Chapter 239

Mo Hua named the Thousand-Tael Staff, then carefully stored it in his storage bag.

In the days that followed, whenever he had free time, he took it out to practice, eventually developing two simple, unadorned, yet highly practical techniques:

One was to strike downward; the other was to swing horizontally.

He had tested the downward strike—it was easy to use.

The horizontal swing was more complicated: he had to first swing the Thousand-Tael Staff, then channel Qi during the swing to activate the array, causing the iron rod to instantly grow heavier, and, relying on the momentum, lash out horizontally.

Controlling both the Qi and the force was difficult.

If he hit the target, his Hukou would ache from the shock.

If he missed, he had to let go of the Thousand-Tael Staff, or his arm would dislocate.

This was the helplessness of being naturally weak-bodied and unable to pursue body cultivation.

But after practicing a few times, Mo Hua became much more familiar with it—at least he no longer dislocated his own arm.

Mo Hua also gave both techniques grand names: the downward strike was called "Weight of a Thousand Tael," and the horizontal sweep was called "Sweeping a Thousand Tael."

They sounded imposing, but they were only for emergencies—he wasn't a body cultivator and couldn't rely on them for direct combat; at best, he could use them for ambushes.

Still, it was at least another means of dealing with enemies.

He took the opportunity to visit Fushan Restaurant, found Fu Lan, and asked her to make tofu for him.

This was his first time eating tofu from the cultivation world.

It wasn't especially white, but had a faint yellowish-bean hue, with a strong bean aroma.

Whether fried, stir-fried into dishes, or made into sweet bean curd pudding, it tasted excellent.

Mo Hua sent some to his parents, Mr. Zhuang, and the siblings Bai Zixi and Bai Zisheng to try.

He didn't send any to Old Kui—he liked crunchy things that made noise when chewed; tofu would surely disgust him.

As for the inner mountains of Xiancheng, though more external cultivators had arrived and the danger had increased, Mo Hua still had to go.

He was a formation master—he couldn't afford to run out of spirit ink.

Moreover, the amount of spirit ink he needed was several times greater than that of an ordinary Grade-One formation master.

Thus, demon blood was always better in greater quantity.

After all, he was now at Qi Condensation Seventh Layer, his Flowing Water Step was refined, and except for Foundation Establishment cultivators, ordinary Qi Condensation cultivators couldn't touch him.

Even Foundation Establishment cultivators—if he stayed alert and spotted them early—he could likely escape.

On this day, as he entered the mountains, Mo Hua placed down sixteen or seventeen vials of demon blood, satisfied, then sat beneath a shady large tree and pulled out wild fruits to eat.

Soon after, his spiritual sense stirred—he sensed someone, and the aura felt familiar; he looked up quietly and saw Yu Chengwu, along with several other demon hunters.

They were walking along a secluded path, seemingly searching for something.

Mo Hua stood up and waved to them from afar.

Yu Chengwu finally noticed Mo Hua and couldn't help frowning.

At this distance, even his spiritual sense hadn't detected Mo Hua—how had Mo Hua spotted them?

Mo Hua used his Flowing Water Step, leaping lightly across the hilltop, and floated down before Yu Chengwu.

Yu Chengwu stared in surprise.

What kind of body technique was this?

Earlier, when Mo Hua had traveled with them, he hadn't used any body technique—he'd assumed Mo Hua couldn't use one, yet now he saw Mo Hua's mastery was this advanced.

More skilled than some veteran demon hunters…

No wonder he dared wander alone in the inner mountains.

Mo Hua studied Yu Chengwu and asked curiously, "You're not here to hunt demons?"

They weren't wearing iron or vine armor; their blades were sheathed; they wore ordinary external cultivator clothing, dressed like outsiders.

Yu Chengwu said, "We're entering the mountains to capture someone."

"Who?"

"The cultivators who ambushed me last time." Yu Chengwu's eyes flashed with cold fury. "A bunch of scum—dared ambush me? I won't let them go."

Mo Hua asked, "Do you know who they are?"

"Not yet."

"Then how can you find them?"

"They didn't dare enter the city—they must be hiding in the mountains. If we search, we'll find them."

Mo Hua nodded.

Unless they found these cultivators, they'd remain a threat—if demon hunters were ambushed during their hunts, it would be dangerous.

"Then go ahead," Mo Hua waved his hand.

He didn't want to get involved—he had urgent matters to attend to; right now, gathering more demon blood was best.

"If I run into them, I'll set off a firework to warn you," Mo Hua added.

Yu Chengwu paused slightly, then nodded. "All right, but be careful."

"Don't worry."

Mo Hua parted ways with Yu Chengwu and his group, wandered the inner mountains for most of the day, and when descending at dusk, encountered them again.

Yu Chengwu and the others were wounded, bleeding, but their injuries didn't seem severe.

They were escorting two cultivators, both dressed in black robes, their limbs bound with iron chains, their bodies covered in wounds—one had a broken arm, the other limped.

Clearly, they had fought hard before being captured, then beaten severely.

Both looked exhausted, but their eyes held hidden resentment.

Mo Hua studied their faces, thought for a moment, and confirmed—they were two of the seven cultivators who had ambushed him that day.

"You actually caught them?" Mo Hua was surprised.

"Of course—we're demon hunters; no one knows Great Heishan better than we do."

Yu Chengwu kicked the two men, "These scum thought they were hiding well, but they ate, drank, and camped out in the mountains, killed and robbed travelers—left so many traces. How could we not find them?"

"Only these two?"

"The others probably went out raiding; they left these two to guard the camp."

"Should we kill them?" Mo Hua asked curiously.

Yu Chengwu paused slightly, then said, "Not yet. Take them back first, beat them a few times, see if we can extract anything. As for their camp—it's already alarmed. We won't catch the other cultivators now."

Mo Hua nodded, then scanned the two black-robed cultivators with his spiritual sense, frowning.

These two black-robed cultivators looked miserable, but their spiritual energy was still abundant—this was problematic. There'd be risk.

"Break their legs first," Mo Hua kindly suggested.

Yu Chengwu blinked in surprise.

"Their spiritual energy is still abundant," Mo Hua said.

Abundant spiritual energy is a hazard.

Yu Chengwu thought for a moment, then nodded. "Break their legs," he told the other demon hunters.

Just as the hunters moved to act, Mo Hua shouted, "Wait."

He paused, then said, "Break their arms instead. If you break their legs, they can't walk—you'll have to carry them."

Break their arms, and even with spiritual energy, they won't be able to strike for a while.

Yu Chengwu nodded. Without a word, the hunters moved, snapping the arms of the two black-robed cultivators.

The two black-robed cultivators screamed in agony, their faces filled with hatred, their eyes venomous as they glared at Mo Hua.

Mo Hua raised a delicate eyebrow. "Dare you glare at me?"

Hearing this, the hunters kicked each man once, making them grit their teeth against the pain—but their hatred only deepened.

Mo Hua sighed, turning to Yu Chengwu.

"Should we blind them too? They keep staring at me."

At once, the two black-robed cultivators broke into cold sweat, lowering their gazes, daring not to look at Mo Hua again.

Yu Chengwu felt helpless.

When this child is good, he's truly good; when he's bad, he's truly bad.

He can think up the most insidious tricks.

But he thought this was better.

Don't show mercy to evil people—otherwise, you'll be the one who suffers.

These two black-robed cultivators have killed and robbed; their hands are stained with countless lives. Even killing them now would be too kind.